


Soteria

by fullonzombae



Category: izombie
Genre: Alcoholism, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, NOT S5 COMPLIANT, PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Trauma, post-s4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-07-13 13:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16019198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullonzombae/pseuds/fullonzombae
Summary: A mission goes wrong when Don E goes missing, and Liv battles with her demons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soteria - the Greek Goddess of salvation, safety and deliverance.

It was these days he missed Liv the most. Of course, she was still in Major's life, but he missed the domesticity, being able to curl up with her on the sofa and unload his days troubles before listening to her own. Somehow, she knew how to fix things, or rather, she did before she became the source of so many problems.

In the days since Chase's death, it was clear she wasn't sleeping. She could put on a brave face, smile for the general public, but everything about the day she had lost Levon and the day she had killed Chase had taken its toll. He knew that from how the brain tubes lasted her longer than they should, as if she were afraid to touch them. And he knew that from how he often caught her online at 5am, times when anyone else would be asleep. Was there a way to fix it when someone you loved was hurting so much, he wondered, and it was as his secretary cleared her throat that he realised he was supposed to be paying attention.

"Washington State on the phone for you, Sir."

Major screwed his eyes shut and leaned back in his chair as if the mere suggestion of talking to Washington was repugnant. "...Right. Put them through," he mumbled, his thumb and forefinger creasing his brow. This would be the first conversation since Chase's death, and there were questions to answer, more to ask, and problems that couldn't be fixed.

How do you solve a problem like Olivia?

 

Liv's habit of propping up the bar in The Scratching Post was disconcerting. Sure, as the bar manager, Don E knew he shouldn't object. It was good for profits, after all, especially with the way Liv could encourage almost anyone to join her for another round. But this was still Liv, and she'd been here for five nights out of the past eight, and this time she didn't even lift her head from the bar as she held up a note. Don E sighed and made his way over to his drunken adversary and took the note from her hand, stuffing it back into her purse.

"You should probably go home, Liv."

"... Anything with a percentage," she mumbled, gesturing as if she were still holding the cash.

"I'm not serving you." Well, those words physically hurt to say. He sighed and signalled for Tanner to carry on serving. Thank god the bar was quiet.

"... Does Blaine know you're not giving customers what they want?"

Don made his way over to Liv's side of the bar, pulling up a bar stool. "You know, when his dad died, Blaine did exactly the same thing. Caught him trying to get Candy to shoot him." There wasn't so much as a murmur of acknowledgement from Liv, and Don sighed, reaching over to place a hand on Liv's shoulder. "I get it. It hurts, right? But you're fuckin' Renegade, right? People are counting on you. Seattle needs some self-righteous do-gooder to rescue it, and we both know that's not gonna be Blaine and me."

"Yeah, I'll get back to saving the world and killing off Seattle tomorrow." Liv pushed herself back up and rustled through her purse, pulling the cash back out. "Tanner..."

Don sighed and caught hold of her arm, tugging it down gently. "This solves fuck all, you know? I mean, wow. I'm giving you a pep talk, of all people, but you're not gonna find no answers at the bottom of a bottle." His attention was caught by Ravi walking in, precisely thirteen minutes after Don had fired off a message about Liv. Thank God.

"You called Ravi."

"Text him."

"Fuck you."

"Wow, Liv. Thanks. I mean, you'll thank me one day..."

Ravi placed a hand on Liv's shoulder, and Don excused himself. As Don scurried off, Liv turned to face Ravi, her mouth set in a firm line.

"Come on, let's get you home." Ravi held an arm out for Liv, his expression ever sympathetic and concerned.

"I found his t-shirt."

"Liv. You can't end up here every single night."

"I've not been here every single night. I just got myself barred from..." She screwed her face up, trying desperately to remember the name of the very bar where Blaine had once sang about lost loves and broken hearts. "... You know what, it doesn't matter."

Ravi let out a sigh and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Look, let's just get you home. I think you've had enough for tonight."

 

The drive back to Ravi's house was shrouded in silence, and Liv rested her head against the window, her eyes closed as she tried to fight off the drowsiness from five tequilas, seven whiskeys and four double vodka and cokes. She had argued with Don E over his surprising level of responsibility, and she had sobbed into Ravi's shoulder as she remembered just what had drawn her there that night. Her friends could tell her she was a hero, that she was working for the good of the people, but that didn't erase her own ordeal.

Had Major been any later, she would have been dead too. More dead. But given that she could still see what remained of Levon when she closed her eyes, that she could see what she had done to Chase, that somehow felt preferable. It was that reminder that made her sit up straight, her eyes widened as she watched the road ahead of them, desperate not to fall asleep. If Ravi had offered any concern, she no longer heard it. She had heard enough of it from everyone in the days that had passed.

"You're supposed to be on the underground tomorrow," Ravi reminded her as he parked outside his house. The keys dangled from his hand as he pulled them from the ignition, and he idly twirled them between his fingers. "Look, we can get one of the other coyotes to go, but we still need you to..." He signalled with his finger, a scratching motion. The zombies' eternal signifier. Liv didn't answer, but instead let herself out of the car, making her way in the general direction of the house. She didn't want another lecture, and she didn't want to be reminded about her responsibilities that had been nothing more than an inconvenience until the city decided they were a necessity.

She knew why Ravi had brought her back to his. She'd find Peyton in the kitchen, along with a pep talk and assurances that she needed to fight this. She'd had that pep talk before, in the days when her family believed her to be struggling with some form of PTSD. She didn't need it again. It was for this reason she bypassed the kitchen completely and made her way to the spare room to sleep.

"She'll be okay. I mean, it's Liv. She's always okay sooner or later," Ravi offered as he sat opposite Peyton at the kitchen table. The wine had been hidden away, and three glasses of water sat on the table instead, along with a pitcher. Peyton groaned and buried her face in her hands.

"Do you think she needs therapy? Trauma counselling? Something like that?"

"AA meetings?"

"That's not fucking funny, Ravi."

"I wasn't trying to be." Their voices never raised above a whisper, and Ravi reached over to place a hand on Peyton's arm. "Look, it might wear off. She might get over this... The whole drinking herself under the table, I mean... But what if she doesn't? I mean, where do we even start?"

 


	2. Chapter 2

Liv could swear she felt the cold even more than usual. As she stood at the station, she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. These days, she felt less like Renegade and more like an imposter. How could it be, she wondered, that the moment she found herself getting close to someone, she lost them. Of course, there was a solution, but somehow she doubted that her friends would allow her to distance herself from them, even if it was to protect them.

She seated herself on the edge of the platform, looking down at the tracks below. They'd been disconnected when the walls went up, and this had now become a reminder of what Seattle had once been, of the times she'd greeted Peyton here, or Ravi, after they'd been away. Now, however, Seattle was a prison for all except those who had the money to buy their way in or out of the city.

Would it hurt if she never returned, she wondered. It would be easy enough, once she was out of the city on a mission, to never come back. She could leave to smuggle someone out and just never return. But today, she was tasked with bringing someone back into the city; a student whose routine check ups had brought her troubling news and a death sentence. She had told Liv, over weeks of emails, how she had gone from a medical student to a patient. She had prayed, however foolishly, that the chemo would work, and Liv had hoped, naively, that she wouldn't be left with another reminder of Isobel. She didn't want to drag another young woman from her family, and she didn't want to risk the possibility that - like Isobel - Mia was somehow immune.

Major's argument was that there was only so much trouble Don E could cause if he had a more law-abiding partner in the brain smuggling business. She couldn't help but wonder if Don E was being told that he was keeping her out of trouble.

He turned up a mere eight minutes late - punctual by his standards - a coffee in each hand. Liv pushed herself up from the platform and swung her bag over her shoulder as Don thrust a coffee into her hand.

"You look like shit," he said, and she glared at him, taking the cup as he offered his compliments.

"Don't start."

"... Yeah. Pumpkin Latte. Blaine said that's what you drink."

"Sugar?"

"One." He watched as Liv raised the cup to her lips, before digging into his pocket and pulling out his phone. As they made their way to his car, he tapped out a message and fell into step beside her. "You ever thought about getting help, Liv?"

She tightened her grip on her cup and clenched her jaw. She had heard everyone's arguments about what was best for her, and she had heard everyone's sympathy. It didn't get easier to hear, and it didn't become any more tolerable. "That's supposed to get us to Cleveland?" she asked, screwing her nose up at the car in front of her. She was certain the car - a white, beat up Audi Quattro - was older than he was. Just beneath the handle on the passenger side, a scratch in the paintwork added a dash of character, and Liv found herself impressed that all the headlights were still intact.

"Hasn't failed me yet."

"It's the 'yet' I'm not comfortable with." She slid into the passenger seat and reached for the radio.

"Hey, driver picks the music. Don't you watch Supernatural?"

"Nope." She moved her hand from the dial all the same, and relaxed back into her seat. "So, am I babysitting you? Or did Major tell you that you're babysitting me?"

"... It wasn't Major. You know the boss is sweet on you, right?"

"Yeah. Right." Liv scoffed, taking another sip from her drink. "He's egotistical, cocky, self-assured and the only thing he cares about is money."

"Hey!"

"... And you. For whatever reason. Seriously, though. I thought he'd be the more vengeful type."

Don answered with nothing more than a roll of his eyes, instead opting to adjust the volume of the music. Liv decided that he must be trying to drown her out.

 

Blaine hated being called into Filmore-Graves. Sometimes, he half-expected for Chase Graves to approach him with more thinly veiled threats, more bribes and more demands for information he didn't have. But now, he was left to deal with Major instead, a man with whom he shared more history than anyone could ever believe.

Most men, given Major's position, would have upheld the death penalty long enough to see Blaine executed. Instead, Blaine found himself plied with coffee and cookies supplied by the latest secretary. He was fairly certain she wasn't the type to plan a zombie apocalypse behind Major's back. Looks like Major was already doing better than Chase.

He watched as the secretary's hand brushed against Major's shoulder as she leaned in to whisper something into his ear. The unnecessary tactility, the fact she'd refreshed her make-up just before coming into the office and given that she'd deliberately opted for a rather flattering blouse left Blaine wondering just how much better than Chase Major was doing.

As the secretary left, Blaine offered a tight-lipped smile and set his cup down. "Has Liv met her yet?"

"Who?" Major looked up from an invoice that sat in front of him, before sliding it over to Blaine. "... Katy? Why would she?"

The poor man was oblivious. Blaine laughed and picked up the invoice, casting a cursory eye over it. "... Nope. I can bring it down 25%. 30 at a push. You weren't seriously going to take their offer, were you?" He passed the invoice back, before tugging another one out of his pocket. "Here's the prices we were getting from Mumbai. Granted, Mexico think they're offering a superior product, but brains are brains. Especially if we're going down the processed crap route."

"I know you don't approve of the tubes..."

"No-one does, Major. They're eaten for necessity, not pleasure. You're not going to get anyone in Romero's sharing a brain tube by candlelight." He carefully examined a nail, his interest in the conversation still at a bare minimum. "You could, at the very least, make them look more visually appealing."

"...Everyone's a critic."

"I own a fucking restaurant. Of course I'm a critic." Blaine shifted his weight and leaned forward. "Look. About Liv."

Major's attention shifted, and he met Blaine's gaze. "... If this is about last night..."

"Yeah. And the night before. And the night before that. Look, I get it. She's feeling a bit fragile. But she's using it as a crutch."

"Are you really giving me a lecture about how bad addiction is?"

"... Again. Former addict. Not sure there's many people better qualified to give that judgement." Blaine sighed and stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "Look, someone needs to find a way to get her out of this. Better to do it now, rather than months, years down the line. Don't worry, Don E's under strict instruction..."

Major groaned, dragging his hand over his face. "Was pairing them a mistake?"

Blaine looked back over his shoulder, scrunching his nose up slightly as he weighed up Major's question. "Nah. He spent years cleaning up after a drunkard father. Can't think of anyone better equipped."

 


	3. Chapter 3

On the far side of Spokane, Tasha found herself wondering about the pasty couple in the booth of her diner. So far, the woman had done nothing but pick at her food, clearly not interested in the idea of eating. Tasha had already asked them twice if everything was okay with their food.

_Best Burgers in Spokane!_

Their A-Board had boasted that for five years, until some do-gooder had told them that is was a possible breach of trade's descriptions. Tasha had given him a tightlipped smile and asked if he was complaining about his food, before grabbing a chalk marker and making her way outside and scrawling the word probably at the bottom of the sign. Their Yelp reviews had picked up on the addendum and argued that there was no probably about it, and one regular had taken to trying to wipe her latest addition from the board.

So, it wasn't that the food was bad. The stranger's boyfriend - she assumed that was who he was - certainly seemed to have enjoyed his and, after voicing a whispered frustration that she really needed to eat, had taken to stealing fries from her plate as he talked incessantly.

"So, where you guys from?" Tasha asked as she placed two more milkshakes in front of them. She hadn't expected the look of frustration from the man, definitely far too thin to eat like this on a regular basis, and found herself almost relieved as 'Liv' spoke up.

"Walla Walla."

"Ah. So, you stayin' in Spokane, or..."

"What's this, the Spanish Inquisit... Ow!" The man, who was definitely punching above his weight with his girlfriend, reached down and grasped at his shin, and Tasha could only assume that Liv had kicked him.

"Business. In Wisconsin." There was something odd about this couple, and Tasha couldn't quite place it. Her face was familiar, and his was just... Perhaps it had been a complete meet cute. Whatever. She could serve them, get them out of her diner, and never have to deal with them again. 

 

It was five hours later that Tasha remembered why that face was so hauntingly familiar. Stories had leaked into the mainstream of a rogue zombie who had found a way to smuggle people into Seattle. Some said she had turned them, too. Others said they had become a source of food. The general consensus, through every newspaper, was that this zombie - Olivia Moore - was highly dangerous, and should not be approached at any cost.

 

"Do you have to be so hostile to everyone?" Liv slammed the driver's door behind her as she stuck the keys in the ignition. It was then that Don E remembered that he'd never been in the car whilst Liv had driven before. And what was it his father said about female drivers? He double-checked his seatbelt.

"I ain't hostile with everyone. She was just sticking her beak in where it's not wanted. You know what happens when people do that, Liv? Someone gets killed."

"That only happens in movies, Don E. Look. Most people don't give a shit. Just tell them we're off somewhere else and they'll..."

"Start asking more questions." His voice became more high pitched, mocking, and he made a poor attempt to mimic Tasha. "Oooh, that's nice. What business is that? What is it you do?"

"You're an utter dick, you know that?" Liv batted his hand away from the radio, glaring over at him. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Normally, he'd have retaliated, and probably pointed out that she claimed she had never watched Supernatural. He could have, and perhaps another night he would have, started a whole new argument, just for the fun of it. But that old Liv was shining through, albeit for long enough to tell him that he was going to have to suffer Taylor Swift for the next five hours. Don E had survived being held captive by zombie truthers, he was fairly certain he could survive an off-key rendition of Picture To Burn sung by a no longer bleak and dismal Liv.

_"I hate that stupid ol' pick up truck you never let me drive..."_

"Remind me to tell Blaine I'm not accompanying you on another one of these trips.

_"You're a redneck heartbreak, who's really bad at lying..."_

"Ever, Liv. Seriously."

As she looked at him, she bore a radiant grin and Don wondered if it was truly possible to be miserable whilst listening to this song. True, it was trash, and a complete insult to the Country genre on a whole, but somehow, it wormed its way under your skin. If Liv turned him into a Swiftie by the end of the trip, he'd be the laughing stock amongst his staff, and she knew it. Marvellous.

 

Blaine remembered now why he preferred to leave the running of the bar to Don E. Sure, he knew his way around the bar, and he knew how to mix a good drink. But there was something about having to do so for a bar full of customers that grated on him, especially when they were a lot less sober than he was.

"Wine, please." The blonde at the bar batted her eyelashes, and Blaine rolled his eyes. The note wedged between her fingers wasn't going to change his mind.

"Like I said. Come back in... two years? I think I've still got your father's name on speed dial."

"Are you for real?" She pouted and leaned forward, enough for Blaine to wonder just how she had managed to get out of the house dressed like that. Would it be improper for him to suggest that someone covered her up, he wondered, before the idea of Liv lecturing him on a woman's right to wear what she wanted popped into his head. 

He folded his arms, leaning back against the fridge behind him. "Do you really think I'm joking?"

"You used to give my father drugs, and then you turned him into a zombie. You don't get to take the high ground here." She leaned in and lowered her voice. "So, I'll have a glass of wine, or I can tell that friendly Filmore-Graves soldier just what you used to do."

"Wow. I got a spoiled little rich girl trying to blackmail me?" Blaine let out a hearty laugh before leaning in himself, one hand on the beer pump. "Look, Princess. I know the tricks. I wrote the rule book. As for what I used to get up to, Boy Scout over there knows all about it. Now scram." He watched as she left, aloof and frustrated, and probably trying to get served in the next dive bar she found. He let out a sigh and pulled out his phone.

Don E had sent him a video, and as Blaine opened it, Liv's face appeared on the screen, a cheesy grin on her face as she sang along to the radio. She looked, for once, like she was free and Blaine wondered just how Don had come to put a smile upon her face. He tried to shake the pang of jealousy, that Don got to witness this first hand, that his friend most likely wouldn't appreciate the full wonder of this, and instead decided to restart the video, smiling as he realised that this was the first time he'd seen her smile in over a week.


	4. Chapter 4

**[msg]**  
 _Blaine > Don_  
How is she?

**[msg]**  
 _Don > Blaine_  
She's sung every fkn One Direction song she knows. Twice. Just cos she knows i hate them. Think shes asleep now

**[msg]**   
_Blaine > Don_  
Perhaps don't leave her alone with a minibar?

**[msg]**  
 _Don > Blaine_  
Not a fkn idiot Blaine.

He had a point, Don E told himself, and he cursed, wishing he'd had the foresight to call ahead and ask the motel not to leave a minibar in Liv's room. Granted, she wasn't his responsibility, but he had seen her the night before, how it was clear she'd drink forever if it number the pain. He swung his legs from the bed and stretched, reaching for his t-shirt. Was this his life for the next week, he wondered? Babysitting Liv?

As he arrived outside her room, he knocked, and found himself somewhat relieved when she answered. It meant the minibar was still, for now, untouched. But she was tense, and he wondered just how much she was fearing being caught.

"Hey, I'm gonna go grab... I dunno. KFC? Pizza? Something to make the brain tubes a little easier to digest." He thumbed in the direction of his car. "Coming? You ain't eaten today."

"I'm not hungry, Don..."

"What, you gonna wallow in there all night? Start on the minibar? Come on, Liv."

"I'm not hungry."

"Tell you what, then. You come with me, we'll grab a film from the nearest store, some chocolate... Blaine said you like the peanut butter cups..."

"He remembered?" Liv frowned as she looked up at Don before sighing and reaching for her bag.

"Yeah. There's this pizza place about a mile out. Stopped there with Blaine last time we came this way."

"And there's the sign of a fine, upstanding establishment."

  
By the time they reached Joe's Pizza, Liv's mood had lifted thanks to constant jokes at Blaine's expense. Don directed her to a table, before ordering the hottest pizza from the menu. As he took a seat opposite Liv, he slid a can of cola over towards her and opened his own.

"You always been such a goody two-shoes, then?" Don leaned back in his chair, watching as a flash of irritation crossed Liv's face. Oh, hearing her argue her way out of that label would be fun.

"I'm not a goody two-shoes."

"Puh-lease," he said, folding his arms. "The only time you've ever broken the law was for the greater good."

"I tried to take Blaine out."

"Everyone's tried to take Blaine out. And you just proved my point."

Liv laughed, her hand flying up to cover her nose as she tried to stop soda coming out of her nose. Trying to steady herself, she turned on the plastic chair, leaning forward as the giggles failed to subside.

"And you've got... what... a 100% failure rate. Good going, Liv." She answered by flipping him off as she sat back up. "I mean, the first time, you didn't even take the damned shot."

A thoughtful look crossed her face, and Don E stopped with the quips to let her start. "How come he never tried to get revenge? Yeah, I get it. He put me through some shit, but none of that was an attempt at revenge. It was just me getting caught in the crossfire of him getting what he wanted."

The truth, Don E decided, was the best option here. But the truth meant accepting his reality. He had pined for Blaine, the man he had loved and hated in equal measure. The man who sold him out to get a happy ending and a fresh start, the man who accepted him into his life but still kept him at arms length. He shook his head, then turned to face the counter. "Hey, how's that pizza coming on? Ain't got all night here..."

"Don..."

"Look, I don't know what goes on in his head, okay? What you think I am, his shrink? Jesus." He pushed his chair back and stood, making his way over to the counter, before turning to face Liv. "You don't realise how good you fuckin' have it, Liv. Let's face it. Yeah, your boyfriends have a pretty high death rate, but whose fault is that, huh? Other than that, your life's looking pretty fuckin' peachy."

"My fault?" She looked incensed by his words, but her expression changed, slowly turning to utter devastation.

"Liv, I didn't mean..."

"I think you made it perfectly clear what you meant." She reached for her bag and Don E cursed under his breath.

"Look, I was just..." He trailed off, trying to find an excuse she'd believe. "I just..."

"Just what? Testing me? What the fuck was it, because you just... That came out of nowhere." Her voice rose, and Don could feel the eyes of the staff on him, watching from behind the service hatch. He searched for an answer, but was interrupted by Liv scoffing and turning on her heel.

If this was a movie, Liv decided, he'd have run after her and apologised. He'd have admitted his faults, and Liv would have yelled at him, told him just what an ass he was. They'd have rowed in the middle of the street, probably attracting the attention of the people who passed them by. He would have admitted just how unequivocally wrong he was, begged for her forgiveness, and held her as she cried. But this was reality, and despite how he had been there for the past few days, they were little more than acquaintances. Partners in crime. Quite literally.

She lowered her hood as she entered the liquor store, grabbing a basket. She could feel the cashier's eyes on her. The perils of being a stranger in a small town. She didn't pay any attention to the flickering image of the 10pm news as she grabbed potato chips and chocolate. Comfort food at its very finest, even if she couldn't taste it. She'd tell Blaine exactly what his 'buddy' had said, she decided, her attention settling on the wine fridge.

She knew she should try to stay sober. But she struggled to fight the image of Levon from her mind, the sound of the guillotine crushing him. She had killed two lovers in one day, and that had to be a new record. Not that she could call Chase a lover, more a mistake. Liv grabbed the first bottle she came to, and made her way to the till.

  
"Don E, when you get this message, ring me the fuck back, will you?" Blaine ended the call and tossed his phone down on the bed. Peyton had called him, frantic about the fact that Liv hadn't been in touch. Normally, she wouldn't be one to panic, but with Liv's recent frame of mind, who could blame her? Blaine's messages had gone unanswered, and now Don E was somehow allergic to conversation.

He'd make him pay when he got back.

Blaine tried to work out why he cared, when he started caring, before he decided after a while that he didn't care why he cared. He just did. He made his way through to the kitchen and switched on the coffee machine. As he waited, he drummed his fingers on the counter before turning and making his way back to the bedroom, picking up his phone.

**[msg]**  
 _Liv >Blaine_  
Nver working with him again.

**[msg]**  
 _Blaine >Liv_  
What's he done? Been trying to call him for the past hour, no answer. Where are you?

**[msg]**   
_Liv >Blaine_  
Hw's the literal worst.

**[msg]**  
 _Blaine >Liv_  
Are you drunk?

**[msg]**  
 _Liv >Blaine_  
Does it matter?

Blaine let out a long groan of frustration, before pressing on her name. He held the phone to his ear, pinching at his brow as he waited for her to answer.

"What do you want, Blaine." She sounded like she'd been crying, and Blaine cursed under his breath.

"You know, Peyton's worried about you, right? Why aren't you answering her calls?"

"I don't want to talk right now. I just want to get drunk and forget everything."

Blaine made his way back to the kitchen and placed an espresso cup in place. "You know that's not going to fix anything, right? It's not going to bring Levon back."

"My fault he's gone..."

"What? Liv, no. It's not... Shit." Blaine cursed as the steam from the machine caught him, and shook his hand. "Where's Don E? He's supposed to be keeping an eye on you."

"Don't need a babysitter."

"I know, Liv. I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"Don't need anyone."

"We both know that's not true." He turned and leaned against the counter, sipping at his espresso. "Right now, you're drunk. Not thinking straight. Where are you, anyway?"

"Motel."

"Uh-huh. And Don E?" He listened as Liv made a noncommittal noise. "Liv."

"Not seen him since the pizza place. Don't care. He can go fuck himself."

Blaine answered with a sigh, dragging his hand over his face. "Right. Yeah, he can. Tell you what, Liv. I'm gonna send someone else to deal with this one. And I'm gonna come and get you, right?"

"I'm perfectly fine where I am."

"No, you're not." He shook his head, reaching for his jacket. "But tell you what, you get some sleep. I'll be there by the time you wake up, yeah?"

He didn't wait for an answer, didn't wait for her to protest, but ended the call as he made his way to his bedroom to pack an overnight bag.

**[msg]**  
 _Blaine >Don E_  
I swear to god, man. You are SO fucking dead.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey! Hey!" Don E kicked at the metallic door, before resorting to his shouting. "Hey, doofuses. You can't keep me locked up in here."

Had he not hurt Liv, perhaps things would have turned out different. Perhaps she could have convinced the pizza guys that, no, they weren't the zombies plastered over the news. Perhaps she would have seen the police pulling up before he did and dragged him out of there, dragged him to safety. Perhaps they'd be back at the motel right now, sharing pizza and anecdotes about Seattle life. He wouldn't be stuck in a special holding unit whilst the police tried to decide on the best course of action in order to deal with him.

The officers had argued about just how much truth there was in the stories of the Seattle zombies. Sure, there was freaky stuff going on in Washington, but zombies? Don E had opted for silence as they'd tried to ask him.

He was supposed to be looking out for Liv, and here he was. Locked up.

"Everyone says that, buddy." The voice from the unit next to him sounded much older, much frailer, and Don E sighed, resting his head against the door.

"Didn't ask for you fuckin' input, buddy." The last word dripped from his lips, full of sarcasm and venom. For all the things he could have been locked up for, never had Don E expected it would be for trying to do the right thing. He made his way over to the bed and laid down, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"No need to get snappy, kid. Look, you pipe down, play ball, and you get out of here quicker."

"Uh-huh, if you're so good at this advice, what you doing in here?" Silence. Don E sighed and stretched onto his back. "Reckon they'll let me make a call."

"Oh, sure. They'll bring you breakfast in bed in the morning, too. The full works. And that's before they send in your masseuse." A raspy laugh echoed through the vents, before being quickly replaced with a husky smoker's cough. Don E had never been more relieved for being dead. No matter what he put himself through, the chances were that he wouldn't end up sixty-years-old and dying from lung cancer. Nor could he drink himself to death, and that already put him miles above his father.

"Okay, right. I get it. You're funny." Don ran his hand over the stubble that covered his head. Outside, he could hear the rain pounding on the asphalt, and he could only pray that Liv had found her way back to the motel.

 

Liv was asleep by the time Blaine arrived at the motel. Somehow, even sleep didn't look that peaceful for her, and Blaine sighed as he sat down beside her, brushing her hair back from her face. For a moment, he rested beside her, casting a cursory glance around the room. She had, as he'd expected, managed to empty the minibar, and beside her, a bottle of whiskey had been completely drained.

It was better to let her sleep, he decided, grabbing the remaining bottle of vodka that, so far, remained untouched. Unscrewing the cap, he made his way into the bathroom and emptied the contents down the sink, cursing his best friend under his breath.

He had trusted Don E to look after Seattle's most precious zombie, the one woman who could bring humanity to Seattle's plight. Sure, Blaine could charm the pants off the nearest politician, and once, he had. But Liv had integrity, an unshakable need to do the right thing, even when it meant facing up against the rest of the world. She had tirelessly fought for the rights of sentient zombies, had smuggled people into the city for the right reasons, and still found herself facing persecution.

He froze as she stirred, hoping he hadn't woken her. She had been distraught when he'd called her, and he wondered just what had happened between her and Don E that evening. Would it take much to tip her over the edge, to pick up the nearest bottle, he wondered, given her state of mind? He tossed the bottles into a trashbag and grabbed the key from the chest of drawers.

On the way back from the garbage, he stopped in the carpark. Don E's car was yet to return, and Blaine pulled out his phone once more. As before, Don E's phone went straight to voicemail. Blaine sighed, leaning against the lamppost that, in the morning light, was beginning to dim. "Don. Look. Where are you? Just tell me you've shacked up with someone, got off your face and don't remember any of last night. Something. I'm gonna give you three hours, and then I'm taking Liv back to Seattle. Just ring me back, yeah?"

He turned and made his way back to Liv's room, letting himself in as quietly as possible. The room was budget shabby chic, and he wondered just what a sober Liv would have made of this place. Grabbing her bag, he unpacked a change of clothes, before resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Liv. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Oh, if only the world would swallow her up. Liv groaned slightly at the sound of Blaine's voice, turning to bury her face in the pillow. "The fuck do you want?"

"Full of charm and grace as ever." His hand hadn't left her shoulder, and Liv made a feeble attempt to bat it away. She rolled onto her back, fixing her gaze firmly on the ceiling. Under no circumstances would she be looking at him. "Look, I know you can be more stubborn than... I don't know. Actually, you set the bar pretty damn high. But anyway. My point. It's 10am, I've just driven eight fucking hours, and you need to go take a damned shower because right now, it smells like a brewery in here."

She sat, slowly swinging her legs over the side of the bed as she tried to fight the dizziness that seemed to greet her every morning. "I don't need you taking the high ground, Blaine," she mumbled, clutching at her forehead. Right now, the world seemed too much, too bright, too loud. And Blaine was, quite simply, too Blaine for her liking.

"I'm not. I'm just saying..." He trailed off and sighed, holding out the clothes he'd dug out of the bag. "Go get showered. I'm gonna go get a coffee. Pay for the minibar. Chase down Don E... What exactly did he say?"

Liv didn't answer. Don E's words hadn't left her yet, and she stood to make her way to the bathroom. She'd rather spend another six hours listening to Major lecturing her about how this wasn't healthy than recount Don E's words just once.

"Hey, Liv?" There was a softness to Blaine's voice, and Liv hadn't expected it. He stood, and she watched, tensing slightly as he neared her. "Look, Levon... What happened to him was on Chase, right? The man was..." He shook his head.

"You didn't know him, Blaine." She spat the words at him, running a hand through her hair. "The closest you got was when you killed his friends and turned Mama Leone in. So, you know what? You don't get to talk about him."

She stood under the lukewarm stream of water of the shower, her eyes closed as she tried to shake the memories of the night before. There had been such a venom to Don E's words, and she had tried to work out just why it had happened. Was he right, she asked herself as she tried to will herself back to being a functioning human being - or as close as she could get these days. Was she to blame for Levon's death? For Lowell's? She had pulled the trigger on Drake, but she had seen no alternative when every element of the man she had loved had been gone.

It pained her, but Don E was right. She had backed out of killing Blaine, and Lowell had decided to take action instead. She had signed his death warrant through refusing to act. But Levon had ultimately found himself executed for murder. She had fallen in love with someone capable of murder, and yet, Liv couldn't believe she'd have done any different. Oh, if only he'd found a way to take them all out, to remove the entire virus that was Filmore-Graves.

Her head was pounding, and Liv cursed Blaine for disposing of every last drop of alcohol. A hair of the dog would work perfectly at taking the edge off, and he had left her to suffer instead. Perhaps this was a suitable grounds for murder, she decided, as she wrapped herself in the bath towel. Standing in front of the mirror, she examined every line and wrinkle upon her face. Today, her skin looked more ashen that usual, duller and less alive. She certainly looked dead. Liv pinched at her cheeks in a vain attempt to restore some colour, before sighing and turning to leave the bathroom.

As Blaine returned, Liv cursed. She had made several attempts to apply her makeup, to make herself look more alert. She had tried to steady her hand, but each time, her eyeliner looked wobbly and poorly applied. Blaine walked over and took the eyeliner from her, sighing as he crouched down.

"Candy spent months trying to make me look like a member of the undead," he explained, reaching for the cotton wool. "And, needless to say, she spent months making me look more alive, too. Picked up a few tricks." He tipped the make up remover onto the cotton pad and Liv sighed, closing her eyes. She was surprised at how tender his touch was, at how delicately he cleansed her skin. "Promise I'm not gonna make you look like a complete clown, okay?"

She nodded, and the slightest smile found its way onto her lips. Blaine watched her as he applied foundation to the blender, and he wondered if she knew just how precious that smile was. But what did Liv have to smile about these days? Recently, it hadn't been much. He leaned in and began applying the foundation, slowly building up coverage as he worked.

"... You're not making me look like Edward Scissorhands, are you?"

"Definitely. Before the make-up. But hey. He still got Winona, so that's maybe not a bad thing, huh?"

By the time he had finished, Liv no longer looked like she was clinging to life by a thread. She turned to examine her reflection, her eyes widening as she took in his masterpiece. Her skin held a lightly tanned colour, and she looked natural. Alive.

"I'm hoping that's not disapproval," Blaine offered, packing away her makeup. He reached for her duffel bag and stuffed it inside, before standing from the floor. "I mean, you'll probably need to top up the powder later, but you look good."

"Thank you. I... Thank you."

He squeezed her shoulder, offering her a reassuring smile. "Look. Don E's still laying low. I'm gonna send one of your coyotes out to meet him, okay?" She nodded in response, and Blaine slung her bag over his shoulder. "We'll get you back to Seattle. Come on."


	6. Chapter 6

Peyton was waiting for them by the time Blaine unlocked Liv's front door. At some point during the drive home, she had fallen asleep, and for the first time in what felt like an age, Olivia Moore looked like she was at peace. He had almost resented having to wake her when they finally pulled up outside Hampton Place, and he had further resented the fact that the makeup had begun to fade.

"Liv, thank god." Peyton threw her arms around Liv, pulling her into a tight hug, and Blaine smiled sadly as he watched the concern slowly find itself replaced by relief. For all their history, the idea of Peyton worrying endlessly pained him. As Peyton released Liv from her grip, Blaine caught Peyton by the arm.

"We need to talk," he whispered. Peyton turned to face him, and for a moment, her gaze fell to where his hand lay upon her bare skin.

"Not now, Blaine." She nodded towards Liv, who had already resumed her place on the sofa. The expression on Blaine's face was firm and relentless, and she sighed, grabbing her keys out of the bowl that sat by the front door. "Liv, I'll be five minutes, yeah?" She followed Blaine out onto the landing, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

This was the first time she'd seen him since the day she'd collected an addicted Ravi from his office. This time, it seemed they had another addict to fix.

"Look, she won't agree to rehab. We both know how stubborn Liv is."

"She doesn't need rehab, Blaine. She's mourning."

"She hasn't stopped drinking since that day. Look, turn a blind eye all you want, Peyton, but it's not helping. Come on, what's it going to take? I've just driven all the way to Spokane because she was so drunk she could barely stand straight." He watched as Peyton shifted her weight from one foot to another.

"I don't think you're one to lecture someone about addiction. She'll be fine."

"Peyton, please. She's blaming herself for Levon, and it doesn't help that Don E just blamed her for Lowell and Drake too. She's a mess." He let out a sigh, leaning on the bannister. "Zombies aren't immune to addiction, you know that right? Just means we have to drink more, take more drugs, to get the effect. You can't wait for her to admit there's a problem. But she won't listen to me; I'm half the problem."

Peyton sighed and leaned against the door, her eyes closed. "I don't know how to fix this, Blaine. She's grieving, she won't even speak to Major. And as for Ravi having to pick her up almost every night from The Scratching Post - The other night, she didn't even come home." She opened her eyes and looked back at him. "I thought Don E was supposed to be looking after her."

"Yeah. He lashed out over something. I don't know why, the fucker's volatile. Sometimes it takes the bare minimum to push him over the edge, other times, he'll withstand anything." He shrugged noncommittally, before turning to leave.

"Blaine." He stopped in his tracks, and Peyton exhaled slowly. "Look. Why don't you stay for dinner. Our way to say thank you."

"I'm telling ya. I don't know shit about no Renegade." Don E held his hands up, supplementing the last word with air quotes. A look of frustration passed between the two detectives sat opposite him. "Who are ya, anyway. FBI? Yeah, me an' Bozzio... We go way back."

"We're not here to discuss Agent Bozzio." Agent Atwell leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hand. "We want to know just where 'Renegade' is."

"Are ya deaf as well as thick?" Don E groaned and leaned back in his chair, forgetting momentarily about the cuffs on his hands. As he tried to lift them to run them over his head, his hands were jerked to an abrupt halt. Goddamnit. "I don't know no fuckin' Renegade. You wanna let me go, now?"

"You're from Seattle. You really expect us to believe you don't know Renegade." Agent Eisenhower let out a sigh. "Look. We can go for hours here, Donald."

"Don E."

"Whatever. Except we've got three people positively IDing you as being seen with Olivia Moore yesterday. So, where is she?"

"... You ever thought about plucking those eyebrows? I mean, they pretty much meet in the middle..."

"Mr Eberhardt."

"Could probably just shave 'em off and start again..."

Agent Atwell leaned in towards Eisenhower, lowering her voice. "Let's just pick this up in the morning. He's clearly not gonna co-operate."

 

Peyton watched as Liv pushed the peas mindlessly around the edge of her plate. She had seen Liv treat her food with such disinterest once before. The last time, she'd been twenty-two, and the skipped meals, the carefully planned exercises after each meal had been her need to control something. Her college results were out of her hands, her mother was - well, Eva Moore was a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, but her expectations of Liv had gradually climbed each time Liv had met the one before. Food, for Liv, had become the one thing she could control.

This was different, however. This time, Liv could barely find interest in existing. As Peyton looked up, she caught an expression upon Blaine's face that she had witnessed rarely before. It was that reminder that Blaine could be humane, that he could care, despite his best pretences.

"... Do you not like it?" he asked after a moment. Liv didn't answer, and Peyton shook her head, pleading with him not to press the issue. Blaine didn't see. "Liv... Come on, starving yourself isn't going to help anyone."

"I'm not starving myself."

"Don't look like you're eating, either. Look, do you want something else? I'll make something else. I mean..."

"We don't really need to eat, do we? I mean, a brain tube every other day, and we're sorted. Not like the digestive tract's working, is it?"

Blaine watched her, his brows knitted in confusion, before sighing and walking over to the fridge. He returned with a brain tube, setting it down in front of Liv. "One of those daily, and we have a deal, right?"

"Don't patronise me, Blaine."

"Well, try looking after yourself, then." He was fully aware, but far from in control, of the growl in his voice. He sounded like his asshole father, and he hated it. But this wasn't him mirroring Angus; Angus who withheld food when Blaine crossed lines, or Angus who found whatever reason to punish Blaine, for whatever minor infraction. "Jesus, Liv. There's people fucking counting on you. You understand that, yeah? But nah, you'd rather be a selfish little shit, and..."

With that, Liv pushed back her chair, glaring angrily at him, before making her way to her bedroom.

"Yeah. Nicely fucking handled, Blaine." Peyton stood, picking up Liv's plate. Wrapping it in clingfilm, she placed it in the fridge, before turning back to face Blaine. "That's what got you off the drugs, huh? Verbal abuse? Because last I remembered, your dad drove you to drugs, not got you off them."

"I'm nothing like him. Don't fucking compare me to him, Peyton."

"Nah, you're right. You're not." She placed her palms on the table, leaning in. "Because, despite the act you put on, there's a fucking heart in there."

"Don't..."

"What, don't tell you that someone who truly didn't care wouldn't have driven out to Spokane, just to bring her back? Don't tell you that if you didn't care, you'd have left her to her own devices? Don't tell you that if you didn't have a heart, you'd have rejected Major's offer?"

"Don't humanise me, yeah? Didn't take Major's offer for any reason other than greed. You know that, right?"

"Bollocks, Blaine." Jesus, Ravi was rubbing off on her. "Absolute bullshit. You'd have found another way to make money again. You'd have found another way to survive, and to come out on top. And yet, here you are, siding with Major for the good of Seattle. You think you're a monster, but the fact she's here, now... that's proof you're wrong."


	7. Chapter 7

"Why are you still here?" There was an accusatory tone to Liv's voice, and Blaine sighed, lowering his book. He had made himself at home on the sofa, stretched out with a mug of coffee to make the day somewhat more bearable. He closed the book, and turned to face her, a forced smile upon his face.

"Yeah, good morning to you too." He swung his legs down from the sofa, tossing a cushion back into place. "Look. I know you don't want the lectures, yada yada yada, but..." He knew she wasn't listening, and watched as she made her way to the fridge.

"Why is the rum gone?" Liv fished an empty rum bottle out of the recycling bin and held it up, waving it in Blaine's general direction.

"Calm down, Jack Sparrow. This is what we call an intervention." He offered another forced smile, and Liv considered seeing just what would happen if the bottle connected with his head. Oh, the temptation.

"I don't need a fucking intervention, Blaine." She pulled open the fridge, and sighed, leaning against it. "... There were six bottles of wine in there." She slammed the fridge shut, a bottle of hot sauce in her hand.

"Nah. You need a drink, right? Vodka? Whiskey?" He stood and made his own way to the kitchen, grabbing a frying pan. "Don't drink that out of the bottle, for God's sake. Get a shot glass." He hadn't expected her to comply, but Liv turned and grabbed a glass. He watched as she filled it, and then sighed. "That's not a shot glass."

"Shut up, you've already rid me of vodka."

He didn't answer, cracking three eggs into the pan. "Y'know, when my father died, all I wanted to do was drink myself into an early grave. Joke's on us zombies, eh?"

"Your father was hardly comparable to Levon. Last I heard, he was..."

"An abusive prick? The spawn of Satan? Satan himself? Yeah." He gestured towards the fridge, turning to face Liv slightly. "Need the milk. And cheese." Taking the ingredients from her, he carried on. "Doesn't mean I didn't mourn him, though. Guess even the evil bastards of the world worm their way in."

"What's this got to do with me?"

"Wow. What would you get about grief, eh? What point could I possibly be trying to make." Blaine folded the omelette and then turned to face Liv, leaning against the counter for a moment. "Last I knew, Olivia Moore was a somewhat bright woman. Smart. Straight A student. But here she is, thinking the alcohol's gonna solve her problems. Grief gets easier to live with, Liv. An addiction doesn't."

The silence hung between them for a moment, and Blaine turned to dish up the omelette, placing the plate in front of Liv.

"I'm not an addict."

"No. You're not. Not yet. But if you carry on this way..."

"I can stop any time I like."

"I said that about the drugs. Liv, you've been drinking for eight days straight. When I turned up yesterday, you could barely hold your eyeliner straight."

"Why do you care, Blaine?"

Blaine watched her, and she waited, almost patiently, for an answer. Her patience, however, was short-fused, and before he could even find some excuse, she grabbed the plate and made her way to the sofa. "What, a chance to win over Peyton's affections, was it?" she called as she settled down. "Her and Ravi are happy, Blaine."

"It's nothing to do with Peyton, Liv. Christ's sake..." He sighed, turning to pour himself a glass of water. "Look, she's happy. I'm happy for her. Ravi - despite our differences - he's a good guy. Granted, shaming her for sleeping with me wasn't cool, but no-one's perfect."

"Nor was you lying about whether or not you had your memories."

"Touche. My point, Liv. This isn't about Peyton." He settled beside her on the sofa, taking a sip from his glass. "Look, I've been a complete and utter ass, right? Scum of the earth and all that jazz. But you know what, Liv? I'm fond of you. You're an interfering little shit sometimes, and sometimes you're so fucking self-righteous it hurts. But that's not a bad thing. At all. I'll tell you what, though. You're better than losing yourself in the bottom of a bottle and 2am phone calls where you're too drunk to function."

What could she possibly answer to that? Could she lie and say she was okay, or tell him that this was all they needed to clear the air? She shook her head, then sighed softly. "This doesn't make us friends, Blaine."

"Nah. Maybe one day, though. Y'know. If I don't end up in that guillo..." He trailed off and winced, realising just what he had almost said. "... Liv, I'm sorry."

"Don't," she whispered, shaking her head. "Don't tread on eggshells around me. Please. All the shit you've done, and you want to start making sure you don't hurt my feelings?"

He sighed and leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes. He had been here before, making efforts to push anyone and everyone away. Granted, Liv had good reason to reject any attempt at friendship, but he felt that now, she needed something more. Someone that wouldn't turn a blind eye out of their own need for denial.

"You know what?" He lifted his head and looked over at her. "Nah. This isn't about hurting your feelings, or not. Right now, Liv, you're this close to fucking up everything in your life. I get it. Life's shit right now. It is. You're mourning Levon, and Don E has the tact of... I don't know. He's an ass. An absolute little shit, and when he gets back to Seattle, I will wring his neck." He rubbed at his brow, and let out a sigh. "My point, Liv. You're supposed to be smart. The fuck are you doing, drowning your sorrows, huh?"

She didn't answer, and he stood, turning to face her. "You might think you don't have a problem, Liv, but you do. What, you want to end up like that utter scumbag that turned you into a zombie, huh? Because that's where you're heading unless you get your act together."

The plate narrowly missed him, and it took Blaine a moment to realise that she had been aiming for him. "Fuck you," she whispered, narrowing her eyes and standing. He watched as she stormed off to her room, slamming the door behind her, and set about cleaning the mess that she - no, that he - had created.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Samantha Atwell examined the white streak in her hair. Behind her, Scott Eisenhower was slumped, lifeless, against the wall. Somehow, he hadn't tasted as bitter as she would have expected

Had she known that Donald Eberhardt would be her death sentence, she would have passed up on the mission to deliver Renegade to HQ. But she had received the file, and she had seen the challenge. Renegade was a threat who had turned several humans into zombies, and done so under the guise of humanity.

Samantha missed humanity. She had missed it when she had slammed Scott's head against the wall, knocking him unconscious, and she had missed it when she had used the steel door of the interrogation room to crack Scott's head open. And oh, she had missed it when she had raised the tiniest morsel of brain to her lips, the faint metallic taste unlike anything else she had ever tasted. How had she been so careless, she asked herself, as she plucked a white hair from her scalp.

The strength that Eberhardt had displayed had been inhuman, and the appearance he'd taken on had been grotesque. Monstrous. She had watched as his eyes had turned red, as every last ounce of colour left his face, and had she not been frozen in utter horror, she may have been able to grab her gun before he'd grabbed her forearm.

Of course, no one had listened to Bozzio after she had become a zombie. The chances had been that Dale would have said anything to save her skin, Eisenhower had told her. Of course she was talking of the humanity of zombies, of how they could co-exist with humans. They were most likely, Scott had told her, walking timebombs. And even then, what did they eat? Brains. Even if they could plead that their only difference was their diet, they were grotesque freaks who feasted on the people they had once called friends.

That's what she was now, Samantha decided. A walking, talking timebomb. Were she to tell her colleagues what had happened, she'd be answered with a single bullet to the skull. She wouldn't live long enough to tell them that Donald Eberhardt was out there, and that in losing the scuffle, she had signed America's death warrant.

  
Liv had done everything she could to keep herself busy. Under Blaine's watch, she wasn't allowed out of the flat unattended. And whilst he was in the apartment, she had no chance of finding her way to a bar or a liquer store. This was forced sobriety, and she hated it.

As she slid the last book into place on her bookshelf, Blaine appeared in her doorway with two mugs of coffee. "It's not Irish," he offered, placing one down on her desk. "But it'll perk you up a bit." He sat on her bedroom floor, frowning as he examined the bookshelf, before leaning in and pulling out a book. "Didn't have you down as a Hugo fan," he murmured, carefully examining the book.

"It was my father's." Liv stood and made her way to the desk, picking up her coffee as she powered on her laptop. "He loved that book."

"What happened to him?"

Liv closed her eyes and exhaled. "Cancer. It's a bitch."

"... I spent my teens wishing my father would get struck down with it. No such luck."

"You'd have been alone, Blaine. He was still your father." She signed into her email, quickly scanning through the influx of emails, before sighing and closing the laptop. Her mind was fogged with withdrawal, and she wondered if she could convince Blaine that just a small glass of wine could help her through this backlog.

"That was the point, Liv. You met the man."

She turned slightly in her seat, one arm rested on the back of the chair. "You really hated him, huh?"

Blaine turned his mug in his hands, his shoulders heaving with a deep, steadying breath. "My earliest memory is of his hands around my mother's throat. Some men use alcohol as an excuse, others blame drugs. Mental illness. Whatever. But it's not that, is it? Sure, I was high as a kite the night of that party, but I was the kind of sleazeball who'd have groped someone whilst sober, too. Every single wife beating piece of shit has the same motive, once you get down to it. It always falls down to a need for control."

"Have you ever..."

"I've never struck a woman, no. But I'm an entitled piece of shit. I freely admit it. I'm trying to be better, though. Not sure if that counts for anything."

Her expression was softer now, and after a moment, Liv stood and made her way to sit beside Blaine. "You know, after my father died, I struggled. I was fifteen, Evan was four, and my mom was falling apart. I didn't think I had any control over my life. At all." Blaine turned his head to look at her, leaning back against the wall. "So, I controlled the one thing I could. My eating habits became so fucked. It wasn't even about being thin, reaching a goal. It was about making sure I controlled myself. Religiously. I think everyone's got that need somewhere."

It was the most vulnerable he'd ever seen her. Olivia Moore was the woman who put up walls, who only allowed people in when she truly felt safe to do so. For months, she had kept Peyton shut out and called off her entire relationship with Major. And yet, here she was, baring her soul for him to see.

"You survived that, Liv," he whispered, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You can survive this. You know that, right?"

Did she know it? Liv was no longer sure. She should be, for everything that had happened, dead. But her heart had refused to fail her, and her lungs had failed to give out. She was still Liv Moore, but no longer Miss Olivia Moore, soon to be Miss Olivia Moore-Lilywhite. That ship had sailed, and for a fleeting moment, Liv felt a pang of remorse. Even if she could survive this, the woman she had been before hadn't.


	9. Chapter 9

Liv looked down at the plate Blaine had set in front of her. Eating was supposed to lessen the effects of alcohol withdrawal. The constant pushing of fluids was supposed to relieve her, and Blaine had compared the apartment to the winter he had spent in Canada. His assurance that the living room was freezing, coupled with his endless layering did nothing to alleviate her feverish sweats.

This time, Liv picked up her fork, and she didn't miss the look of pride upon Blaine's face. For someone who was once so dangerous, for someone who had prided himself on what others would call psychopathic tendencies, Blaine did little to disguise his emotions. Was he aware, Liv wondered, as she cut into the omelette, of just how transparent he was?

It was progress. For the first time, she hadn't woken up thinking immediately of where she could get her next drink. She could do this, she reassured herself, lifting the fork to her mouth.

He had been careful, picking out several different brains for each dish. Blaine's explanation had been simple. It was the same process that Filmore-Graves used in order to make sure each zombie could remain themselves, as far as possible. His attempts at Tagliatelle had wound up being fed to yet another homeless zombie, and his bagels had wound up on the plate of Mrs Jeanette Jones after Liv had complained that the very thought of food repulsed her. Mrs Jones had told him, as he'd handed her the bag, that his mother must be incredibly proud of him.

Blaine didn't have the heart to correct her.

Of course, Liv hadn't been able to clear the plate. But she had eaten, and that was enough. As her phone rang, Blaine took the plate and made his way to the sink.

"Major... No. No, I'm not. No." Blaine scraped the remnants of the omelette into the garbage and turned to face her, watching as she scrunched her face up in the midst of another debate with Major about whether she was needed at Filmore-Graves. He walked over, and to his surprise, Liv didn't protest as he took the phone from her.

"Major! Yeah, she'll be there in... An hour? Yeah. Make it an hour." He forced a smile at an irate Liv, ending the call and handing the phone back to her. "What, you gonna put your job off for the rest of your life? Or are you actually going to try and be a functioning member of society?"

"I'm ill."

"No, you're going through withdrawal. Go and get showered, get changed, fix your face and get to work."

Liv grimaced at his words. "You were nicer last night." She sounded like a petulant five-year-old, and Blaine couldn't help but smile. Had she seen the smile, she'd have accused him of laughing at her, of being a patronising asshole, and probably launched into a rant about how he didn't give a fuck about anyone but himself. He had never understood why that idea hurt her so much. For most people, the idea that the villain in your tale was a heartless bastard would have been a comfort. For Liv, each time she voiced a recognition of the fact, her face contorted as if someone had repeated the words back to her.

"Yeah. And now I'm being the tough-love dickhead. Deal with it, Princess." He placed a hand on the small of her back, steering her towards the bathroom.

  
As she emerged from the bathroom, she looked vaguely more human. It would have been patronising, Blaine decided, to cheer her for even the slightest act of functioning, so instead he gave a small, approving nod. Even that was enough to earn a scowl from Liv, and Blaine missed the days she had greeted him with minimal hostility.

Granted, he'd been feigning amnesia. Blaine had to remind himself, on a depressingly regular basis, that she had tolerated him for two reasons. The first had been Peyton. The second was her argument that you can't hold someone accountable for something they have no knowledge of doing. It was by no means an absolution, but it was a chance. He missed chances the way she missed sobriety and the taste of peanut butter cups. He passed her her jacket, and as she walked past, he caught just the faintest scent of perfume.

When was the last time she had bothered with perfume?

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Major cast his eyes over the paper that laid in front of him. It was typical of the press to sensationalise everything. Typical of them to tell the world that it was about to end, when the truth was that this could be contained.

It was a week since Don E had gone missing. At first, Liv had argued that he could still be travelling to Cleveland, that he may still return with both Mia and the trade deal from Charleston. She had told him his phone could have died, and she had begged Major not to launch a search party. The news of a missing zombie would be disastrous, and Liv had begged him not to sign Don E's death warrant.

Now, however, news of New York's first zombie had hit the news. A young socialite, capitalising on her newfound status. Liv could no longer argue Don E's innocence, although Blaine wasted no time in telling Major that the young woman had described being turned during an encounter with another woman. "Last I checked," Blaine pointed out, stretching and reaching for his coffee, "Don was a man. And gay. I'll put money on it. He didn't turn Brittany Wallace."

"No, but someone did. And given that, six days ago, there was only one member of the undead outside the city walls, that means Don E's turned someone. The law's clear on this. The moment he turns anyone outside of the city walls..."

"Well, maybe the law's wrong." It was Liv who spoke this time, the first time since this meeting had begun. Major watched her in silence as she shifted her weight. It was the first time he'd seen her since Blaine had brought her home, and she looked tired, washed out and worn down, yet somehow, she looked sober. "Why are the lives of anyone in Seattle worth less? Or the lives of those outside the city walls worth more? Why isn't the government funding research into a cure? Why aren't you?"

"Liv, that's not our field."

"What, because it's not your fault? Major, Filmore-Graves created 29,000 zombies. Your soldiers benefitted from it, and you've shirked responsibility. Those walls haven't come down, you've yet to secure any central government funding, and now there's zombies in New York, we're going to be driving Don E underground..."

"Liv, he's turned someone."

"So have I. Or have you forgotten that?"

"That's different."

Liv sighed and pushed her chair back, reaching for her bag. "Is it? What if it was his only option, huh? He's a fucking coward, Major. If he's turned anyone, then he's done it for a good reason."

"Where are you going?" Blaine put a hand out to stop her, and Major watched the way their eyes met. It was the unspoken look of understanding, and he knew, even if Liv didn't.

"He'll have slipped up somewhere. Someone needs to find him. And someone needs to save this city. Because the people in charge sure as hell won't." She pulled her gaze away from Blaine for a moment, and Major could see nothing but pure anger in her eyes. "... Tell Peyton that goes for her, too. You two might be happy to sit back and watch this city burn, but I'm not."

  
She slammed the bottle of wine down on the counter and rooted for her purse. "Sorry, Liv. Can't serve you."

Liv looked up at the cashier, her eyes narrowed, before digging out her ID. "You know full well how old I am, James. Don't be a dick."

"Yeah, it's not about that. I'm under instruction..."

"You own this place."

"Uh-huh. I also value my kneecaps..." James shifted his weight from one foot to the other, before letting out a resigned sigh.

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?" The realisation sank in, and Liv let out a groan. "I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him."

"That sounds like one hell of a promise." As soon as Liv heard Blaine's voice, she turned, slapping him hard across the cheek. Her own hand stung with the reverberations, and she shook it gently, trying to rid herself of the tingling sensation. Blaine reached up and rubbed his cheek, and Liv felt a rush of satisfaction.

"You followed me here? You're fucking unbelievable." Liv left the money for the wine on the counter, taking the bottle. "You're a patronising, pathetic, condescending son of a bitch. What, you think I want your nose in my business? Think I want you in my life? Huh?" She jabbed a finger in his chest, rage filling every fibre of her being. "I was fine until you came along. I was fine. And then you came along, and fucked my life up. There's not a single good thing you've given me."

Once, he wouldn't have run after her as she left the store. Once, he would have taken her words without an ounce of care. But this time, as the words sunk in, he followed her, his footsteps quickening as he realised just how far down the street she was. "Liv. Liv, wait." Blaine picked up his pace, grabbing her arm to stop her in her tracks. "Yeah, you're right I'm an ass. A thorn in your side, and all that jazz. But seriously, Liv. Please." He looked down at the bottle in her hand, then met her gaze once more. He wanted to wait for the hate that filled her eyes to fade. "I get it. You're angry - at me, at Major, at everyone. But unless we can bring Don home, and stop those other zombies - somehow - then what the hell is he supposed to do?"

"Something. He could be doing something. What, we're supposed to be condemned for existing? We were doing fine until Filmore-Graves turned up." She was bitter, angry, and hurt, and as Blaine held out an arm, Liv stepped closer, burying her face in his chest. Blaine exhaled softly, wrapping his arms around her, as he tried to find some solace to placate her wounds.

"Can't believe I'm defending Boy Scout here, but he's trying, Liv. Don't think he was left in the easiest situation. Now, unless we're going to trek across America, search every single state, and find Don ourselves, he's our best hope." He leaned down and pressed his lips to Liv's scalp, before pulling back. "Let's get you home. I was gonna order in a curry, anyway."

 

"You were right." Liv dumped a duffel bag on the sofa. Sobriety had brought clarity, and this clarity had brought realisations. Another bag followed, along with a map and Blaine's car keys. "Major's in over his head, and if we leave it up to him, Don E's screwed." She turned and headed back to the bedroom, returning a few moments later with a washbag. "Obviously, we'll need to work out where he is, but..."

"Wait, what?" Blaine seemed to be struggling to keep up, and Liv let out a sigh of frustration as she stuffed the washbag into one of the larger bags. She watched as his gaze drifted over to the wine bottle on the counter, and she folded her arms, watching him. "Liv, what the everloving fuck are you going on about?"

"Well, someone has to save Don. Might as well be us."

**Author's Note:**

> At the moment, I'm aiming to update this fic three times a week. However, as college picks up, this may change.


End file.
